Precursors forgive me!
by vasillis-childe
Summary: Daxter lost something important to the underground. Story title relates to the fact that I suspect I will have a small legion of rabid Jak fans coming after me for it. I understand completely.


Torn sat slumped at his desk, head held in one hand as he considered the creature before him. Two feet of pure orange irritation. Torn sighed as he asked to question. He wasn't sure he wanted an answer, but he felt compelled to ask regardless.

"What do you mean, you managed to lose it? How do you manage to lose something..." Torn started before being cut off by the Ottsel.

"Hey! You know something Torn? That's your problem. You blame others waaay to easily. Have you considered that maybe, just MAYBE, this might actually be your fault?"

"Listen you…" Torn looked up with a slightly shocked expression, "My fault?" his eyes narrowed as he glared at Daxter, "My fault! I don't seem to remember being the one who lost…"  
"And again with the blaming of the little guy. You're just a big bully, Torn. You know that? Just a big, stupid bu…"

It was incredible the speed at which Daxter could stop talking when a curved knife slammed into the desk in front of him.

"Daxter, you I will /I go into town to recover it. And you I will /I do so immediately. You will I not /I stop by the Naughty Ottsel to talk to Tess. You will I not /I do so under the cover of 'Secret underground business'. Do you understand me?" Tiny Adam's apple bobbing nervously, and wide eyes glued to the knife, Daxter could only nod. "Good. Be back here by sundown. It shouldn't be too hard to find, surely," and with that, Torn glared at the hapless Ottsel again, retrieved his dagger and got back to his paperwork.

Tess liked her job. After the defeat of Baron Praxis, the death of Krew and the destruction of Kor, the blonde had been pleased when the Shadow, the old Shadow, has assigned her the position of "Permanent/Fulltime Information Gathering Specialist. Area: Docks." She had, of course, heard the rumours that Samos had merely set the blonde up in an area where she couldn't press any buttons and hurt herself and others but, as she looked at it, Samos had described her as a female, human Daxter, which meant he obviously thought she was a real asset to the underground team. She was slightly puzzled at the lack of official Underground missions she was getting lately, more puzzled at the special Underground missions that Daxter brought her, but she enjoyed her cover job as a bar maid at the Naughty Ottsel, so she was generally a happy sort.

Hearing the door sliding open, Tess looked up and gave a squeal of delight as her favourite half-sized hero walked in, swaggering like the incredible killing machine that he was. She rushed out from behind the bar, scooped Daxter up and cuddled him to her ample cleavage. Daxter, for his part, didn't struggle.

"What are you doing here, Daxter!" she exclaimed, "did you bring…" and here her voice dropped to a whisper, "another secret mission?"

Daxter drew in a breath to speak before he was cut off by an electronic squawking, his communicator. Torn's voice came though, loud and clear, "No Tess. Actually he's.. Wait… another mission? Daxter has brought you secret missions?"

It's said that there is nothing funnier than watching an Ottsel when it is slowly realising that it's in danger. First, the ears prick up. Then the tail lowers ever so slightly. Then the eyes begin to widen. Picture this where said Ottsel is also trying to grab a communicator and frantically trying to find the off switch.

"No! No secret missions, Torn! Just the ones you send me an' Jak on!"

"Tess. Explain. Now."

"The secret missions, Torn. The ones that the Shadow made me do for propaganda? Where I stripped down to my underwear and fired the peacemaker at the gun course?"

"No, no! No secret missions! La la la la la!"

"Really," a thoughtful pause, "Daxter. When you return I wish to talk to you. Now get moving!" To Daxter's relief, the communicator shut off. Tess looked nothing if not confused.

"Daxxy? What did he mean by…"  
"Nothin', sweet cheeks. Don't worry your pretty little head about it. Now… you've got your finger on the pulse of the city, right?"

"Right!"

"And you know about things that have been, say… lost?"

Tess looked confused, "Did you lose something? Does Jak have it?" Dax sighed.

"Probably. Have you seen him around at all?"

"Not since last week when you came in to get the plaster case of my…"  
"Well, sorry to love ya and leave ya, babe, but I have Underground work to be doing!"

Tess sighed as he left. Daxter was such a hero.

Daxter searched the city till the sun rose. From the water slums to the palace. Asking the digitised ghost of Vin in the power station, Keira hard at work on a new and improved lawnmower. Even Ashelin where she was organising patrols of the new Freedom guard to watch over the city. Daxter searched and searched until he'd run out of ideas. Except one. But that was unthinkable. Un I doable /I , He couldn't! But like a moth drawn to a flame, Daxter wandered the quiet streets towards the bazaar. To the tent that was to be site of one of the most trying ordeals of Daxter's life.

Asking Pecker for a favour.

Daxter wasn't expecting the laughter to be quite as explosive as it turned out to be. Pecker laughed until tears ran down his face, till he fell off his perch and landed on the floor kicking and screaming with mirth.

"Bwahhhaahaha… you lost...bwahahahaaaa.. you actually… bwaaaaaahahahaaaaa!" and so on.

"Listen birdbrain! It wasn't in my job description when I signed up to look after it, so don't blame me!"

Pecker drew in a breath to tell the Ottsel exactly what he could do, but Onin started making a series of obscure hand movements, trailing blue sparks through the air. The Monkaw leapt up into the air to alight on the large dish shaped hat that Onin perpetually wore.

"Onin says…the object which you seek can be found where you left it, " Pecker translated.

Daxter looked at Pecker, "That is the single lamest, worthless, half-assed piece of occult gibberish I've ever…" he stopped, "Oh crap! The HQ!"

Just over a kilometre away, as the Monkaw flies, Torn finally finished his paper work. Stretching and sighing with relief, he thrust his chair back and got to his feet. Yawning, he made his way over to the bunks near the entrance of the HQ to his favourite sleeping spot. "Precursors," he swore under his breath, "I can't see how even Daxter could lose Dark Jak."

Upsettingly for all involved, Torn was too tired to see or hear the quietly snoring lump under his blanket before he lay down…


End file.
